


Hope

by Arika_Ito



Category: The Inheritance Cycle - Christopher Paolini
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-15
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 01:20:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/843651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arika_Ito/pseuds/Arika_Ito
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eragon is a simple farm girl who longs for an adventure. While hunting, she discovers a mysterious blue stone and brings it home with her. Her destiny changes from there.<br/>-------</p><p>Chapter Seven: Strangers, and why are they here?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Eragon was hunting. She was hunting, deep in the Spine, where no Carvahall villager would have ever ventured and frankly, if her uncle knew where her hunting grounds currently lay, she wouldn’t be hunting anymore. But they needed meat and desperate times called for desperate measures. Uncle Garrow would understand. Eventually.

She was one of the few villagers who dared to enter the Spine, most too frightened of the tall tales and strange old men who appeared from the Spine. Eragon’s reflexes and lithe body had been molded by the Spine, knowing at a small age that Roran and Garrow were far too muscular to enter the Spine without inviting some danger to their bodies. Even the Empire, ruled by the King Galbatorix, was hesitant in entering the Spine. Stories that told of Galbatorix losing half his army to the dangerous mountain terrain haunted the village, telling of its danger and doom.

But Eragon risked it. She was tracking a small doe that had a limp that was wounded by what, Eragon didn’t know, through the Spine. Perhaps, the animal wasn’t hurt by something but born with the defect. Eragon chose this exact doe for the same reason; the animal was weakened and slow, meaning to easy to catch.

She had been tracking the doe for near two days, following it through the Spine’s difficult terrain, one of the many things that made the mountains ominous. The trees grew crooked, bent and looming, untamed by the land of Alagaesia. Eragon could barely see the half formed moon and the cloudless sky, covered by the thick branches of the leafless trees.

By appearances, Eragon resembled no one in the village. She had nut brown eyes, darker than anyone’s in the village and those who lived around it, coupled with light gold brown hair, which, Eragon had heard, was like the color of brown sugar or so the merchants had told her. Not that she knew what brown sugar even looked like. It sounded like something that belonged in the wealthy southern cities of Alagaesia, but she was told that her facial features strongly resembled her mother and therefore Uncle Garrow’s. Her eyes were serious now but this was then and Eragon knew that when she returned to her home, her features would lighten and she would be able to relax.

Her worn but mended clothes were inherited from her cousin, Roran who was only a few years older; it was too expensive to clothe Eragon regularly in girls’ clothing. Aunt Marian’s clothing was well preserved but Eragon reserved from wearing them, out of respect for her adoptive mother. Not that she minded, being that it was much easier hunting in trews and tunics. Things tore less often. She wielded a yew bow with her buckskin tube strapped to her body. She had a hunting knife with a bone handle for protection at her belt.

She had been hunting for nearly three days, having caught nothing and expending most of her time on the doe. If she did not kill the fawn successfully, then she would return empty handed, which she could not let happen. Her family needed the meat for the winter that was rapidly coming and Sloan, Carvahall’s butcher, sold the meat at a price far too high for her family to pay for.

Eragon kneeled, crawling towards a glen where she believed the pack would rest., feasting on the rare grass that grew in the clearing. She could not afford having her scent being blown by the wind; this hunt had already been difficult enough. The doe lie near the group’s edge in the clearing where the moon’s glow shone on it. In perfect view, Eragon notched an arrow, pulling back the bow’s drawstring, ready to strike in a single moment. _Please_ , she prayed, taking a breath, only moments from releasing her arrow.

Then the clearing exploded with a blue light and the herd fled, the disabled doe following them. Eragon cursed in an undertone, letting the arrow fly, only seconds too late. The arrow whizzed by, disappearing into the darkness of the trees. She stood, trying to see where her prey had run but it was too late. There was nothing in the clearing except for her and the thing that had imploded. As the smoke cleared, she stared at the oval shaped stone that was bigger than her both her fists combined. The surrounding ground was blackened with fire marks and Eragon knew that this stone was nothing like ones she had collected in small streams when she was young. It was far too big and too smooth. It was not shaped by nature. But by what?

She unsheathed her knife, putting away her bow. She glanced around her surroundings, smoke still drafting around the even greater clearing, the grass and trees having been blasted and blown away. She knelt and smoothed a hand over the oddly shaped blue stone, tension knotted in her body as she examined the oddity.

Its surface glimmered, the white veins that were strangely visible, crisscrossed in patterns she never recognized. She grasped the stone, gasping at its cold touch. By such an explosion, she would have imagined the stone to be blazing hot but instead, it was as cool as snow. Also for its considerable size, it was much lighter than she had been expecting. She examined the stone, bringing it close to her face. The old tales told by bards had never prepared her for an event like this. If anything, the stone had to have been created by magic and it was clearly transported in front of by magic, but for what reason? There was nothing about Eragon that suggested that she was destined for a life of greatness and adventure. _By what matter was she supposed to have the stone_?

She would rather have the meat instead. Eragon sighed, her breath appearing as a cool puff instead. It was getting cold. Eragon would be going home without any meat but not empty handed. 


	2. Chapter 2

Eragon woke, only moments before sunrise. The mixture of pink and gold set ablaze the Spine, revealing the false nature of the mountains, depicting them as a peaceful and wondrous place. The air was bitingly cold, nipping at Eragon’s nose as she rolled up her cot, brushing off the small flakes of ice that had formed. The night had transformed the Spine into a sort of winter land, only missing the most important ingredient: snow. Rather than the frozen falling liquid, it was frost that dominated the landscape. Jogging slowly, Eragon examined the small glen where the stone had appeared and noted no new details. No clues at what the stone was or how it arrived to be in front of her. No signs that anything had been there during the night while she slept. The stone would continue to be a mystery, one that Eragon did not need.

The trail that she followed was treacherous, having been created by animals, meaning that the trail itself often lead to places where humans couldn’t reach or dead ends that could be dangerous in the right situations. No one traveled through the Spine often enough to set one anyways, which Eragon often cursed. It would be dangerous, getting lost in the Spine. A path that actually made sense and didn’t offer the risk of getting lost would be very useful indeed.

Eragon could be called a reckless idiot from time to time but like many others, she enjoyed living. She kept a keen eye on her surroundings because the Spine, in the plainest words, was a death trap. She compared it to a moat filled with lava like in the old tales that Brom, the village mystery, liked to tell, except for the Spine, its danger was not so blatant. The true danger lay in its crags, differing terrain and the fierce beasts that roamed at night, which was why she kept her knife at her side, ready to use in a moment’s notice. No, no one knew the Spine, except, perhaps the gods who had created the forsaken forest.

By the time when the sun dimmed on the sky, Eragon had already reached the Anora River, which she would follow back to the heart of Palancar Valley where Carvahall waited for her and Carvahall meant civilization. The result of several streams that met up and created Anora River, which was the source of water for the village and the farms when they couldn’t rely on the rain to bring it to them.

Eragon broke camp once more and with her intended schedule, she would reach Carvahall within two days’ time. She would take breaks to assure that she kept a good sense of her surroundings.

During the night, it continued to freeze and Eragon wrapped herself even further into her clothes. Only the idea of her warm bed and home kept her going. By the time the sun reached the middle of the sky on the second day of traveling, Eragon could hear the deep rumble of Igualda Falls as the water spilled over the cliff. This meant that she was on the edge of the Spine where Palancar Valley and Carvahall Village lay.

The Anora River flowed even further south, past Therinsford and the lone peak Utgard. Eragon had never been further than the valley. The question really was if she wanted to go further than the valley. The idea of an adventure appealed to her but she did have Roran and Uncle Garrow to worry about so she quenched the idea of a venture out of the valley out of her head.

There were only a few villages this far north and all of them small; no one traveled this far north and if they did, they were usually trappers and merchants. When Eragon finally reached the edge of the Spine and entered the outcropping of homes, the sun was setting, casting long shadows. Eragon would have to hurry if she wanted to get back home before the sun finally set and night overtook the valley. But first, she had an errand to run and it would involve Sloan, the butcher who seemed to have a special hatred for Eragon.

As the lone butcher of Carvahall, Sloan was especially involved with village politics, if there were really any. A quiet and sleepy town, Carvahall rarely experienced any true drama except for the odd spat. It was a life that Eragon enjoyed but she knew in her heart that she longed for something more. At the very least, she would like to know who her father was or what type of man he had been, if he was still alive.

She opened the door a crack and slipped through; Sloan's back was turned but when the bell rang, signaling her entrance he faced the door. 

“So the great huntress returns, I see if you’re here, you didn’t get anything. So, what do you want? I assume you have money,” Sloan sneered, his black eyes, taunting and hurtful. A length of rope held all of Sloan’s blades at his waist, a fearsome collection and able to grab at a moment’s notice.

Eragon clenched her teeth and gritted out an answer. “I don’t have money. I-“

“Don’t have money,” Sloan exploded. “What are you doing here then? Do you expect me to give you food for free?” Eragon disliked the butcher and it seemed that Sloan shared her feelings. If there was one thing that Sloan truly liked, other than insulting Eragon, it would be his daughter, Katrina, who was around the same age as Eragon. He never permitted them to speak to each other, as if Eragon and her family were something to be avoided.

“No, I-“ Eragon took a deep breath, calming herself. “I have something, of value. I want to trade it.”

“Then wait for the traders to come, that’s when trading is supposed to be done, not right now.” Sloan retorted sharply, his blade coming down to cut a leg of lamb.

“We need the meat now,” Eragon said helplessly. “We can’t wait that long.”

“Then you should have caught something in that forsaken forest,” Sloan answered. “Where did you get that thing you wanted to trade?”

“It’s not a thing,” Eragon murmured, as she took it out of her bag. It still looked the same as it had been when it first appeared in the Spine. “It’s a stone, I think that it might be something of value. It doesn’t look like anything made by nature.”

“Get out.” Sloan said flatly. “You got that thing in the mountains, didn’t you? Get out. Now.” He ordered, pointing his blade at Eragon. “I don’t want a thing like that in my shop.”

“Why?” Eragon blurted out, she cradled the stone, keeping it out of Sloan’s reach.

“Leave before I make you.” Sloan said once more. “I’m not dealing with anything from those mountains.

The door burst open and a giant hulking man stood in the doorway. It was Horst, a blacksmith from the village. Eragon breathed a sigh of relief, Katrina had gotten him, she guessed as Katrina, who was only a year older than Eragon’s fifteen years, followed him. Katrina usually stayed out of conflicts like these, which left Eragon surprised but not ungrateful for the aid. “What’s going on here? We can hear you outside.”

“She won’t, this girl, she won’t leave,” Sloan said first, glaring at Eragon. “This girl came in, expecting meat without any form of payment and even after I told her to leave, she wouldn’t!”

Horst gave Eragon an expectant look. “Is this true?” his baritone voice rumbled. Horst was a fair man if he thought that Eragon was lying, her standing with him would fall and Eragon didn’t want that. She would tell the truth from her point of view.

“No, I-“ Eragon protested. She took another breath to calm herself,” I don’t have any money on me,” she admitted. “But I offered this stone as payment and then Sloan exploded at me.”

“Did you get that in the Spine, Eragon?” Horst asked expectantly and she nodded. “Sloan, while I distrust the Spine, why won’t you trade with her?” At Sloan’s glare, Horst continued. “I am willing to cover what that stone won’t. How much meat were you going to purchase, Eragon?”

Surprised at Horst’s generous offer, Eragon answered, “As much as I could.” Horst nodded and Eragon moved to place the stone on the table as it was part of the agreement but then Sloan spitted out. “I won’t have that thing in my house.” Eragon glanced at Horst, the change of events would mean that Horst would essentially be paying for all the meat that she got. Uncle Garrow wouldn’t like this.

Horst dug a hand into his pockets and pulled out a handful of coins. “I want the best choices of meats and I want enough to fill her pack,” Horst ordered. The butcher glared resentfully. “Sloan,” Horst stated grimly. “You don’t want to anger me any further.”

Sloan went into the back room, they could hear the slam of the knife hitting the wooden board; Eragon glanced at Horst reverently. While Uncle Garrow wouldn’t like this, Eragon would appreciate the blacksmith’s kind offer. Katrina avoided Eragon’s gaze and left for the upstairs level where Sloan and Katrina lived. Sloan returned a few minutes later, staring blankly at the table, not looking at either at Eragon or Horst.

Horst gathered the meat and Eragon rushed out of the doorway, following him. After a confrontation like that, it would be best that Eragon was not left alone with the butcher. She fumbled with the stone, struggling to put the stone back in her pack. The cold air snapped at Eragon’s cheeks, brushing her hair past her ears but it was far more welcoming than the tense and humid shop they left.

“Thank you, Horst. I don’t know what would have happened if you weren’t there,” Eragon stumbled, sinking a little bit into the snow. Eragon was small for her size, her heavier and tired steps left her disorientated as she dealt with the new surroundings.

“Trouble, that’s what.” Horst said grimly. He smiled at Eragon and Eragon smiled tentatively back. Horst had a special affection for her and Roran, he would often invite her family to eat with his whenever they were in the village.

“Horst, Uncle Garrow isn’t going to accept you paying for all our food,” Eragon chewed her lip. “There has to be a way to pay you back and I doubt this stone will be worth the amount of money you used.” Eragon didn’t even know what her estimate of the stone would be, she had never seen anything like it, so how could she put a price on it?

“There is,” Horst nodded. “Albriech is leaving to find a master who’ll teach him how to smith properly. Elain’s pregnant again and Baldor’s going to be working with me in the forge full time so she’s going to need help around the house no matter what she says.” Elain was a strong woman who Eragon admired greatly but Horst had the right to worry. Baldor was around her age and it had been a while since Elain was last pregnant. It didn’t take long for Horst to come up with answer but Eragon took no mind of it. 

“Do you want the stone?” Eragon offered the damned rock that started the entire thing. “Seeing as how it pretty much belongs to you now.” It glinted as the dimming sun reflected off the snow.

“No,” Horst shook his head. “You just take that thing back home, I don’t need it.” He took a couple more steps, lumbering towards the edge of the village. “Will you eat with us this evening, Eragon?”

“I can’t,” Eragon answered. “Roran and Uncle Garrow are waiting for me, thank you for the offer though.” They split ways and Eragon was following the path out of the town. “Wait, Horst.” The burly man turned and waited, “I was supposed to get a message to Katrina from Roran but…” She trailed off.

“I understand,” Horst said patiently. “What’s the message?”

Eragon flushed dimly, reminiscent of Roran’s when he had told her the message; Eragon would enjoy teasing him when she came back home. “Roran says that Katrina is the most wonderful being in all of the land and he can’t stop thinking of her and that the next time he’ll be in town is when traders come.”

Horst chuckled. “Young love,” he seemed to say under his breath.

“And can you tell her thanks from me? For getting you?” Eragon asked. “Again, I’d tell her myself but I don’t think Sloan really wants to see me anytime soon. For a long time.”

Horst nodded again and he was quickly out of Eragon’s sight, covered by the houses and such that made up Carvahall. She sighed and looked out at the empty path that would lead her home.

After her aunt Marian’s death, Uncle Garrow made the decision to take Roran and her to an abandoned home that was ten miles away from the town. Eragon had heard the villagers say that taking two young children to an isolated home where few lived was a reckless and unwise move but Uncle Garrow ignored those words. Both Roran and she had inherited that trait from him, that stubbornness that could easily be mistaken for foolishness.

Eragon tied the straps of her pack around her waist, pulling her hood over her hair and she started jogging, if only very slowly. She had an hour before darkness truly descended on the land as the sun set behind the Spine and Eragon would have gone faster but the meat weighed her down. The cool air of dusk felt light and brisk as she inhaled into her lungs, which seemed to rejuvenate her despite spending several nights in near freezing weather.

Near the end of the path where there was a fork in the road, Eragon turned and chose the one that would take her south where she was met with a familiar sight. A two story house with a small attic that had a chimney in the part of the house that faced north was puffing familiar smoke. The light from a candle illuminated a window and Eragon knew that her uncle, most likely, was waiting for her. He always stayed up on the day that she was supposed to return when she went hunting in the Spine. He kept vigil as if it would keep her safe. Perhaps it did, though, there wasn’t a day when Eragon returned from the Spine where Uncle Garrow wasn’t waiting up for her. Eragon had yet to have an injury fall on her person when she was in the Spine. But everyone knew how dangerous the Spine was though so she was grateful for her uncle’s actions. They kept her safe in a way.

She neared the door, shoving the hood off her head. “Uncle Garrow, can you open the door? It’s me,” Eragon said, knocking on the wooden door. She rubbed her wrists, stiff as they were from the cold and no longer feeling as good as she did when she left the village. She could her the lock sliding across the wooden panel and door was shoved open. 

Her uncle’s familiar face met hers and a look of joy entered his face. “Welcome back,” Garrow greeted, wrapping her in a slightly warm hug. He was thinner this year than he had been in the past. Eragon and Roran would stay up, whispering over this change in him. They were both worried, Uncle Garrow was old and winters would always be the hardest season for their tiny farm.

“Where’s Roran?” Eragon asked, quietly as she stepped onto the wooden floors into the kitchen illuminated by the lantern close to the window. She undid the straps around her waist and took of the pack. She started taking out the meat, carefully wrapped; Uncle Garrow noticed immediately, his sharp eyes missing nothing. 

“Sleeping,” Uncle Garrow stared at her, his gaze unwavering. “Eragon, where did you get the money to buy this,” he hissed. Uncle Garrow was a prideful man and would never take anything that he believed resembled charity. This would mean he would refuse carefully knitted quilts or any tools that a villager would have a use for.

“Horst paid for it,” Eragon replied quietly. While Uncle Garrow did love her, his lectures were always something to avoid. “I’ll pay him back eventually,” she said abruptly, stopping any words from leaving Uncle Garrow’s mouth. “He said that when Albriech leaves Carvahall, I can help Elain around the house. He says she’s pregnant again.”

Uncle Garrow shook his head discouragingly and Eragon had the feeling that he knew something that she didn’t. However, Uncle Garrow wouldn’t speak anymore of the matter and that was that.

“Uncle Garrow,” Eragon began after she unpacked and put away all of the meat, far more than what would have been on the small deer had she been able to kill it. “Why doesn’t Sloan like the Spine?” She asked quietly. “I found something in the Spine, something that didn’t belong there,” Eragon paused, contemplative. “And when Sloan learned where I had gotten it from after I tried trading it with him, he acted in a manner I’ve never seen from him. Other than the usual insults and taunts,” she amended quickly. “But this was different. This rage wasn’t like him.”

“Sloan doesn’t like the Spine because Ismira, his wife, died in the Igualda Falls when Katrina was only a few months old. You’ve never heard of her because you’re too young. Sloan loved her dearly and her death has made him quite bitter.” Uncle Garrow answered briskly. “Losing someone you treasure is one of the hardest things a person can go through, Eragon.” 

Eragon wondered if he was talking about his sister, Eragon’s mother or Aunt Marian but by the time she reached her mattress, any thoughts over her uncle’s words were lost to the inevitable sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

Eragon woke up early, wonderfully warm and cozy after days nestled into the frozen ground of the Spine. She had missed this, the early mornings and the furs crowded onto her bed. While she enjoyed the freedom hunting in the Spine allowed her, there truly was no place like home.

Eragon lay in bed, contemplating this day. Today was a special day, mostly for Eragon and Uncle Garrow. Today was the day where Uncle Garrow saw his sister for the first time in six years, ever since she had disappeared from Carvahall with a mysterious stranger. 

That mysterious stranger was most likely Eragon’s father and was most likely a very wealthy individual. Uncle Garrow didn’t know Selena’s life outside of the cities nor did Selena tell him anything. She did, however, come back wearing jewels and clothes of a make that could only be found in the large cities. That day, Selena begged her brother to take her in only with the words “I’m pregnant” as the reason.

And what could Uncle Garrow do? He loved his sister dearly despite the time that had past when he saw her last and didn’t want to turn her away if there was a chance that he would never see her face again. So, he had invited her into his house where Aunt Marian had still been alive and Roran was a year and a half old.

There she had stayed for five months and Eragon was born. Uncle Garrow didn’t know where her name came from, only that Selena had insisted on the name. Then unexpectedly, Selena had chosen to leave Eragon with Uncle Garrow and Aunt Marian. She was there one day and gone the next and all of her things had been packed and taken away.

It had been a shock when Eragon first learned that Uncle Garrow and Aunt Marian were not her parents. Aunt Marian had told her first while she was on her death bed but the words had only taken a whole new meaning when Sloan used these facts as an insult to her when she was ten. He had called her a bastard and an unwanted child and they had been at odds ever since. Further examination at Sloan’s behavior took on a whole new light as she grew older.

But she would always consider Aunt Marian and Uncle Garrow to be her mother and her father. After all, she knew no other. But there would always be the thought and wonder of who her birth mother and father really were and where they were. Always.

Eragon rolled out of bed, landing on the floor with a thump to the ground. She had to wake up soon and start her chores but she was reluctant to leave the comfort of her bed. She shed the blankets and groped around underneath her bed where the stone had rolled and when she finally grabbed it, she set on her shelf with all her other items that she had found in the forest, if only not so inordinary.

On that shelf were little things that she had found in the forest that fascinated her when she found them then and that still fascinated her still. One of was root so twisted and oddly shaped that Eragon found completely fascinating and never ceased wondering at how such an object was created. She could stare at it for hours until Uncle Garrow or Roran asked her to start her chores.

She clambered down the stairs, her feet encased in delightfully warm socks as she kept an eye on her footing. Eragon, by nature, was not a very clumsy person but if she were to be injured, it would set the farm by a great deal. She entered the kitchen where Uncle Garrow and Roran were eating a breakfast of fruits and bread.

“How was the Spine, little cousin?” Roran was seventeen, already a man by village standards and far bigger than slender Eragon who had inherited her mother’s famous structure. Before Selena had disappeared, she had many villagers vying for her hand in marriage.

“Terrible,” Eragon scowled, “As it always is.” She reminded, “Didn’t snow but froze every night. I found something in the mountains, though.”

“Found what?” Roran said through a mouthful of bread.

“Some sort of stone,” Eragon replied, pulling a chair out. “I’ll show it to you later.”

Roran nodded and lowered his voice, “Were you able to speak to Katrina?”

Eragon shook her head. “No, but Horst will get it to her. And really, the most wonderful being in all of the land?” Eragon shook her head once more. “You might as well as tell her you want to marry her one day.”

Roran stiffened. “That was supposed to be private,” he grunted.

“Then you shouldn’t have told me,” Eragon pointed out, snagging a piece of bread. “Quite honestly, I am sure that there are other ways to tell her, I’m completely obsessed with you.” Roran scowled at Eragon and she could only laugh in response.

When they finished their light breakfast, they went to work in the fields, storing up the rest of the barley and wheat because the frost would soon kill it all. Today would be the last day of the harvest, if all went to plan. While Uncle Garrow would finish up closing up the storage shed for all their grains, Eragon and Roran would work in the garden.

Under Gertrude’s guidance who was the village healer, Eragon and Roran had cultivated a small garden where herbs, fruits and vegetables grew. They were currently growing pumpkins, yarrow, which could be used to treat fevers, cabbage, carrots, beets, garlic, green beans, wild mushrooms, onions, peppers, potatoes and a few apple trees. During the winter, if they didn’t hunt it or grow it, they didn’t eat it, usually. Only a few staples from Carvahall were bought and eaten, like salt for their meat. 

But now they were picking them all because the frost would come soon and kill everything in their garden. Afterwards, where everything that was ripe and could be picked was picked, they spent days preserving their food. Empty jars and new jar tops covered their kitchen, until days passed and the jars were filled and jar tops disappeared.

It started snowing a little after a week passed since Eragon returned from the Spine. There was no sign of it the night before, just when Eragon woke up, she found her window half covered with snow and with no signs of stopping. Not that the snow had built up and covered their door, just it had collected so heavily on her windowsill. But still, the snow was thick and heavy and thusly, they only left the house to go feed the animals or to collect firewood off the porch. It was a cold time and Eragon could see her uncle continue to shiver in his clothes.

Eragon could not talk about it with Roran any more, he was preoccupied with his own worries. Eragon may have teased him about Katrina but she could see in his eyes, the passionate love for her. Sloan’s disapproval of her family weighed heavily on her mind and most likely, Roran’s. The spat last week were only one of many that had divided her family. Uncle would probably never admit it but the fact that Sloan had insulted her and called her an unwanted bastard was probably the reason they had moved so far from Carvahall so they would see the grouchy butcher even less. Perhaps if Eragon had been strong that day and did not cry, they would still be living in Carvahall this day but she enjoyed the farm life and on days where the sun set behind the mountains, overcasting the fields, Eragon could understand why her uncle wanted to be a farmer.

When the storm finally passed, Uncle Garrow only said a few words and they did not bode well for their family. He said that there was a chance that the traders would not come this far north with the weather being so terrible. Heavy snows would hamper their ability to travel and it was so very cold this north.

With the harvest finally over and the farm slumbering underneath the snow, Eragon soon became restless. It was always like this, every year; Eragon would vibrate around the entire house, annoying its contents. She would fiddle with things, repair her arrows and fix her clothes. She left her hair alone. It was a lost cause. Every day since the storm ended, one of them would go out, wrapped in layers of clothes, to go check if the traders arrived. On the eighth day, Roran’s day, they still had yet to arrive. Mostly out of pure desperation, after packing the entire day for the trip with all of their things, Eragon checked the path, later that night. Good luck had finally come to their home because tracks indicating that the traders had come were engraved deeply into the snow.

With their wagon heavily loaded with things to sell and trade and Uncle Garrow and Roran sitting in the front and Eragon in the back to make sure things didn’t roll around too much, they set off. With the wagon heavier than usual, it took an hour to reach Carvahall than the usual forty five minutes.

Tents and wagons stood in bunches in the outskirts of Carvahall, the bright tents belonged to the entertainers, storytellers, acrobatics and the like. The snow had been flattened in a single smooth layer of snow and served a sort of platform for the tents.

The most exciting time of the year for Carvahall would be when the merchants arrived. They were an injection of happiness and excitement for Carvahall and they would always bring in information, old or new. This year, however, despite the same brightly colored fabrics for the tents and loud chatter, the merchants were different. Children’s faces were dark and Eragon even noticed that the women had knives at their sides and men wielded swords. What had happened to them while they were gone, Eragon wondered, to have changed so much?

They sat the cart and Eragon swung over the cart’s sides, not wanting to wait until Uncle Garrow or Roran opened the back. Uncle Garrow drew a few coins from one of his many purses where he kept the year’s money and handed them to Roran. “Spend this as you like,” Uncle Garrow said, “We’ll be supping at Horst’s tonight.” Eragon grinned and waved, she had a pretty good idea of how Roran would be spending his time in Carvahall.

“Eragon, follow me and bring the stone with you,” Uncle Garrow ordered, striding into the mass of brightly colored tents. She heaved her pack out and strapped it around her waist; the stone was safely nestled deep into the bag. Uncle Garrow asked around and led her towards one of the smaller tents but one of the more crowded ones. This tent belonged to Merlock who sold jewelry or stones, nothing that had any real value except for looking pretty. Eragon wondered why Merlock kept traveling this far north when he would be much more successful in the southern cities where things like that actually had purpose.

He stood, audaciously colored and his arms laden with pretty necklaces and such. He held a case that had several brooches, bright gems inset into the metal. Groups of women cooed and awed over them while Uncle Garrow and Eragon waited for them to subside. As soon as the merchant was alone, they hurried over, ready to advantage of the opportunity.

“And might what you want to take a look at?” Merlock flourished and pulled out a silver carved rose. “A pretty rose for a pretty lady?” Eragon stared at Merlock, eyeing him strangely, the polished metal glinting brightly from the sun. He sighed and remarked, “Not even three crowns but it comes from Belatona.”

Uncle Garrow explained the situation and Eragon was left to examine the tent. It was a popular tent and while some would purchase the jewelry and gems, Eragon had no taste for such things like that. Eragon refocused her attention onto the conversation, just as Merlock invited them into his tent. He put away his wares into a iron chest which had two locks with two keys that he placed into different pockets.

He led them into his private tent that was behind the initial mass of tents that was much bigger than Merlock’s sell tent. A round bed and carved seats from what used to be tree trunks filled the room, including a large desk that held several small things that didn’t look like what Merlock usually sold.

“Now for the item of consideration?” Merlock initiated after they all had sat down. Eragon took out the stone from her bag and set it on the table. Merlock stared at it for several seconds as Eragon shoved her hands into her lap. “May I?” Merlock asked before reaching for the stone. Eragon nodded and Merlock lifted it.

After a series of examination, which included knocking several tools of different sizes against the stone, Merlock asked what it was worth. “That’s what we wanted to find out,” Eragon fidgeted, shifting in her seat.

“This is something I’ve never seen before,” Merlock informed. He described the stone in vivid detail that left Eragon’s mind reeling. It was hollow? What kind of craftsmen had the talent of doing something like that? Then Merlock introduced the possibility of magic and things still didn’t make sense. Magic had obviously transported the stone in front of Eragon but why did something need to be formed of magic and taken to the middle of nowhere? 

Merlock did not offer to buy it nor did Uncle Garrow ask, both men were troubled by the stone, and Merlock told them why they, the merchants, were so late coming to Carvahall this year after Eragon told him where she had found it. Apparently, all was not good in Alagaesia, villages were being destroyed after the Urgals, famed beasts that had never been seen anywhere near Carvahall, went through their fields, destroying their livelihood as well as creating starvation. Also rumors of a Shade had appeared which Eragon had a feeling that it was bad even though she had no clue what it was, just by associating it with everything else.

The stone was not the cause of this, Eragon surmised but only part of it. However, how would this affect Carvahall and her family? Perhaps, she should have chucked the stone far away, never to be seen again when she had first found it. No, she knew herself too well, she would have gone after it, her curiosity having forced her to.

They bid Merlock farewell, Uncle Garrow with a grim expression on his face. “Uncle,” Eragon said hesitantly. “Maybe the stone’s worth too much trouble; do you think I should get rid of it?”

“No,” Uncle Garrow shook his head. “Most things happen for a reason, Eragon. Keep it and put it away in the wagon. We’ll figure out what to do with once we get more information. I’ll see you at Horst later.” Eragon nodded and they parted ways. 

Uncle Garrow would be preoccupied with trading for hours, leaving Eragon time to examine the merchant stalls and possibly see Albriech and Baldor, Horst’s sons. Before they had moved out of the village, she and Roran would play with them, climbing trees and getting into mischief. Well, that was mostly Eragon actually.

Eragon kept a tight hand on her coins, not planning to really buy anything after all, she was just looking but she was able to confirm what Merlock had told them; trouble really was stirring in Alagaesia and Eragon could only hope that it wouldn’t reach Carvahall. It was true that Carvahall was just a small town hidden in the mountains and that was why it had yet to be affected by all the strife that plagued the southern cities.

After a few hours had passed, Eragon purchased a cup of tea and climbed into a tree. She sipped it slowly, savoring its warmth after all that time in the snow. She had just climbed out the tree, contemplating another cup of tea when she saw Sloan. She ducked behind the tree and rushed towards Morn’s tavern where Sloan would surely have trouble finding her then.

Morn’s tavern was busy, as usual. It was a meeting place for all social events when it was cold and today was no different. In fact, it was even more crowded than usual, with all the merchants who had finished trading their wares early. Eragon slid over to a chair, next to Morn who was cleaning one of his many cups with his sleeves rolled up.

“Eragon,” Morn greeted calmly and glanced behind him at the growing crowd and voices. “Is your uncle and Roran here?”

She nodded and he filled her a cup of water. People tried to avoid giving Eragon alcohol and Morn was one of them. She finally noticed when Roran had gotten ale while she only received water. “Yes, but they still might be trading.” A particularly loud voice got Eragon’s attention, “What’s going on over there?” Eragon asked, the group seemed to be focused around only a few people. 

“Just some noisy merchants, Eragon.” Morn informed, “You shouldn’t get involved, Eragon,” he said quietly.

“What’s wrong?” Eragon said, worry coloring her voice. “Are they threatening people?” She questioned indignantly.

“What,” Morn sputtered, “Of course not. Do you think they’d still be here and in one piece if they did?” He shook his head. “No, they’ve just been buying grain at worrying low prices and now,” he snorted. “Telling us that the Varden and the Urgals are allied together, working to destroy the Empire. Meaning that we should send our sons to the south to help defeat them.”

Eragon could understand why he was upset. Carvahall was close as a town, there were no disputes and enmity between the people, for the exception of Sloan had against her family. But the fact that they had been buying grains at low prices, not only affecting her family, it affected nearly everyone in Carvahall. People need that money, Eragon thought spitefully. Carvahall was sustained by farming and when the traders came, it was the only time to trade their wares.

She made her way to the center of the crowd, where she saw two men. One was large and the chair he was sitting on looked like it could barely hold his girth. He seemed to be the main speaker and Eragon could see everyone’s disgust at his words. Yet, he continued on, seemingly ignoring the growing resentment. The second man, the one who seemed content to support his comrade, had a thick neck and large face but contrasting his head, his body seemed unnaturally thin. Both of them had their hands laden with expensive looking rings.

She waited and watched as the traders tried to defend their position. This wasn’t a good situation, at least not for them, Carvahall was rarely affected by the Empire’s actions. For her, it seemed that the Empire was leagues away. After a statement that Eragon disagreed with and left some people nodding, she made her move. “How can you say that to be true?” People stared at her as she stood. “Where’s your proof? How can we believe you? Nothing that you say can be proven, at least not to us and not right now.” She set her face to a stony stare, knowing that her dark eyes would look like piercing arrows, judging them.

“You raise your girls to challenge your elders,” the bigger man scoffed, sweat beading down his face. “What kind of town is this?”

“One who raises their children with some common sense,” Eragon answered sharply and others were nodding. She shot another glare at the two merchants and left the bar, hoping that Sloan wasn’t anywhere near. Eragon wasn’t fond of the Empire, the tax collectors were ruthless in seizing money for their king and there was never any help during the poor crop seasons where everyone nearly starved, even those who weren’t farmers. But the Varden… She had heard about them, of course. Since the time of their creation. Eragon didn’t know when that was, they had opposed the Empire. They were gutsy and led raids against the Empire but that was mostly in the south. No one knew how big the Varden was but no one in Carvahall really cared that much. They had their survival to worry about.

It was nearly dusk as Eragon strode towards the center of the village. The minstrels, singing, dancing, and storytelling was about to start. She passed the alley of a house where she saw a man and a woman kissing. She started walking faster as to not intrude on their intimate moment, but she noted the auburn red hair. It was Katrina….that would mean the man would be …Roran. She smirked delightfully. Let the teasing commence.

The two parted, Katrina leaving at the other end of the alley, towards her home while Roran walked towards Eragon. He finally noticed her and stopped, he sighed and started walking again. Eragon quirked her brow. She wouldn’t say anything right now but she would hold it over him later. “Have you heard the traders?” Eragon asked and Roran nodded. “It won’t end well.” Eragon stared up, into the rapidly darkening sky. Roran didn’t say anything and Eragon knew, something was wrong. It probably had to do with Sloan. While Sloan’s enmity was directed mostly at Eragon, he would not approve of Roran and Katrina’s relationship.

They ate at Horst’s. She sat next to Baldor and Elaine, sipping her water and enjoying the festivities. Soon, they moved towards the center of the village where everyone was gathering. This was the best part of the merchants’ visiting. There were comical plays, sad plays, and happy plays with endings that seemed a bit too contrived but delighted the younger children. Songs that had the villagers dancing were played and as the entertainment was winding down and everyone realized that they were mortal was when Brom, the village storyteller, took the stage.

Brom was old and the village mystery. He had not grown up with the village and appeared there randomly, out of thin air, shortly after her birth. He was not treated with suspicion as soon everyone realized that he was just there to live and tell stories. Anyways, what was there to spy on in Carvahall? Ill-spoken words about the Empire? If the Empire went after everyone who disproved of the Empire’s actions, they would find themselves with half the original population and even more support for the Varden.

Brom had dark hair, speckled with white and short grisly beard. His eyes were dark and piercing, they had missed nothing. Once, when Roran, Albriech, Baldor and Eragon were playing with a ball, it had accidently landed on the roof of Brom’s home. Being the most daring, Eragon elected to climb onto the roof and retrieve the ball but was stopped by Brom. Somehow, he had heard her outside of his house even before she went onto the roof. He used the staff to knock the ball down and she had gotten in trouble with Uncle Garrow and Aunt Marian for trying to climb onto the roof.

Brom weaved an extraordinary tale about the fall of the Riders. Eragon found herself entranced, she had not heard this one before and the detail astounded her. She stared bewitched as she absorbed the tale, eyes filling with wonder. What was it like to live during the Golden Age of the Riders? What was it like to see the dragons? Elves and dwarves traveling across the land? Why would Galbatorix want to end such a time where everything seemed to be so good?

The story ended and it seemed to end on a somber note. Everything was quiet and Eragon could only think about was the Dragon Riders and Galbatorix. They seemed to be a dream that did not exist, did not belong in a place like Carvahall, but only a century ago, Dragon Riders were protectors of the land. And now they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rather than Paolini's description, I went with the movie's depiction of Brom. I preferred that one more so than the books.


	4. Chapter 4

The night they came back from Carvahall, Eragon was determined to investigate the stone properly. Merlock said that it was hollow. So was it a shell? A barrier of protection? What was it hiding?

Clearly, it was something valuable. Eragon knew that. Something that was involved with magic had to be. Now, a person involved with magic had to either associated with the Varden, the elves or the Empire. They were too strong not to be with one of those groups who were fighting over dominance of Alagaesia.

Eragon smoothed a hand over a curve of the stone, Merlock had said that it was made up of a substance harder than he had ever seen. Perhaps she should try heating it. The stone’s brilliant hue was admirable though, a color that deep blue didn’t naturally exist.

Eragon decided to leave the stone on the shelf, there was nothing that could be done right now.

* * *

 Eragon woke up to a rattling noise. A squeak filled the air as Eragon rubbed the tiredness out of her eyes and she glanced around, her eyes landing on the egg shaking on the shelf. She cast her eyes around once more, looking around for an animal that could have shaken the stone. Eragon sighed and stopped the stone from rattling.

She ducked underneath her blankets and was moments from drifting back to sleep. Until she heard another shriek and she grabbed her knife from under her pillow, jumping out of bed.

The thing in her room had to be lacking intelligence. She was certainly bigger than it, relying on the fact that anything in the Spine that was dangerous to her would have not been able to enter the house without Uncle Garrow and Roran noticing, let alone her own room.

She bent down, checking underneath her bed. Another squeak rang out and her head whipped around, landing on the stone. Eragon sighed and straightened; it had been a long day and Eragon was not ready for another set of misadventures with the stone.

Squeaks continued and the stone began to shake, almost violently. She backed up, her foot hitting the door. She already knew that the stone was not normal but having woken her up in the middle of the night left her wary.

A chunk of the stone was punched out. Eragon suddenly knew what the stone was. She had seen this before, with chickens, ducks, and lizards. The stone was not a stone but an egg. The egg broke and the creature within was born.

* * *

Eragon stared. She couldn’t believe her eyes. She had seen a lot of things in her life but this was a first. A shimmering blue figure, a small feline like creature unfurled its wings and glanced at Eragon, but only for a moment as if Eragon was below its interest.

She probably wasn’t. When a newborn animal first arrived in the world, it was often tired or exploring its new world. Or it was hungry.

The dragon was smaller than she had ever imagined dragons ever being. Granted, it was just born. From the length of her hand to her elbow, the dragon was no bigger. As the dragon began to lick the remnants of its embryo, Eragon slipped out of her room to the kitchen where she grabbed a handful of dry meat. She tiptoed hurriedly back up the stairs, her feet lightly pattering on the wooden steps.

When she returned to the room, the dragon had already hopped off her desk onto Eragon’s bed, exploring the room. And most likely searching for food. The dragon turned its head when the door opened, examining the newest figure. Squeaking pitifully, the dragon crawled awkwardly over a misshapen lump on Eragon’s bed.

Now Eragon got a better look at the dragon. Its wingspan was larger than its own body as with all winged creatures and on one of its ridges was its initial claw and where the wing was spread out, Eragon could see tips protruding from its wing. It was more visible from its underside.  Small dull spikes were littered down the dragon’s back, following the curve of its spine. Two nubs of tooth, one of each side of the head protruded from its jaw and would most likely grow into fierce canines when the dragon matured.

A whine erupted from the dragon’s mouth, signaling its hunger. Eragon held out a strip of meat hesitantly and the dragon gleefully chomped on it. She drew back her fingers to avoid being bit. As the dragon scarfed its first piece down, Eragon ran a hand over its back. The dragon shimmered and turned, nosing its snouts against her hand. A flash burned and Eragon fainted.

* * *

 When Eragon woke, she was laying on her side on the floor and the dragon peering curiously at her, resting comfortably in the curve of her chest, near her stomach. Eragon yelped and banged her head on the desk. Groaning, she sat up, massaging her aching head. The dragon hopped into her lap, continuing to stare at her with curious blue eyes. She groped around for the rest of the dry meat, thinking that she must have dropped it when she fainted but found none, however her hands suspiciously moist. She examined her right hand and found a silvery spiral on it, resembling the veins in the dragon’s egg.

Something that Eragon could not describe fully but it was as if there was another consciousness that hummed in the outskirts of her own thoughts. The dragon burped contentedly and Eragon sighed. She should have realized what had happened. Eragon stood up, lifting the dragon in her arms. She sat back on the bed, unsure of what to do next. Should she tell Uncle Garrow and Roran? No, they would only make her get rid of the dragon.

And that was the last she that wanted. From what she knew, dragons were extremely rare and the king’s dragon might have been the only one left in existence. She had never heard of the Forsworn except for tonight in Brom’s tale and the merchants always brought news of the mysterious, as remote as Carvahall was.

Eragon had a gut feeling that she should not leave this dragon and this dragon not be left to die. She resolved to think about the matter later in the morning when her head was clearer and not aching as hard. Now that the harvest was over, they did not need to wake so early, so neither Roran nor Uncle Garrow would come to wake her.

She lay down under her covers, the dragon over the curve of her chest but not on her face. “Sleep,” she uttered softly to the dragon, she stroked the rugged cheek of the dragon’s small head, not caring if the beast could understand her or not.

* * *

Eragon woke with a grimace at sunset. Her dreams had been of a weird one. She was surrounded by piles and piles of dry meat and some of it began to talk to her. While her family was not prosperous, this dream was of a strange nature. It still was a bit earlier than when she normally woke but she could not keep the dragon in her room forever. She stripped out of her sleeping clothes, her teeth chattering all the while. The dragon was perched on the window, staring out at the layer of white that covered the ground. It had snowed again but thankfully had stopped once more for the time being.

The dragon turned its head towards Eragon, noticing that the other room’s inhabitant had finally awoken, alighted from the window, landing on her shoulder. It nuzzled her face and Eragon’s heart melted. She couldn’t get rid of it but knowing Uncle Garrow and Roran, they would object and she couldn’t keep it in her room forever. Who knew how long it would take for this dragon to be bigger than her?

She clenched her fists and one of her fingers scraped the inside of her right palm. The insignia on her hand, it was very noticeable and if she wasn’t careful, people would definitely see it right away. She grabbed a few strips of cloth and wrapped it around both her hands, the cold weather would serve as an excuse as she put on her leather gloves over her hands. Just as extra measure of security.

Placing the dragon on her shoulder, as well as grabbing some more rags and chunks of leather, Eragon crept outside of the house as quietly as she could, leaving a slumbering Uncle Garrow and Roran behind. She padded lightly through snow, leaving a trail of footprints that she would hope the snow would eventually cover. She walked for at least a half a league from the house, content that no one would come this deep into the woods.

When Eragon was younger and they had just moved into the abandoned farmhouse, she had been deemed too young and too small to help. This meant she had a lot of free time to herself and she spent it exploring the woods outside their farm. She also built some small forts and huts, some of them were in the trees, so she could be outside without being too cold. She reached the closest one to the farmland and while it had been big for when she was young but now, she could barely get through the doorway. It would be big enough for the dragon though.

The dragon alighted from her shoulder, burrowing itself into the snow, exploring the new surroundings. Eragon laughed, charmed by its actions. No, she would never kill or do anything to harm the dragon.

She made a makeshift noose from one of the thin strips of leather and tied it around a thin tree. She coaxed the dragon towards her and slipped the noose around the dragon’s neck, hoping to keep it near her by tying it to a nearby tree.

Eragon climbed the tree, using its lower level branches and sat on another branch while creating a nest inside the small hut, draping them over the branches that she had left, which were big enough for her to sit on them, at least when she was young, leaving a few scraps to cover the doorway in order to keep the warmth in. She heard a ripping noise and Eragon couldn’t look down fast enough. The dragon had ripped through the leather and was tearing through something that…used to have feathers.

“Nice to know you can get meat for yourself,” Eragon muttered as she made her way down the small tree.

The dragon ate the former bird in a disturbingly fast pace, which meant that while Eragon could and would provide meat for it, the dragon was capable of hunting for itself.

She waited until the dragon was done feasting before lifting it. She had seen what animals had done if they were taken from their meal too soon, as adorable as this dragon was, it was also dangerous. Eragon placed the dragon back onto her shoulder and climbed back up the tree. “This is your new home,” Eragon informed. “Stay here, you’ll be safer.”

The dragon cocked its head and Eragon knew that it hadn’t understood her. A feeling of freedom, of openness entered Eragon’s mind and Eragon had a sense that these were not her own thoughts.

 _Stay_. Eragon created the image of the hut and tried to keep the image inside the dragon’s head. _You’ll be safer here_.

Eragon had spent too much time here. Uncle Garrow and Roran would be awake soon and they would wonder where she was. _Stay_.

Eragon dropped back down to the floor and was walking away, when a loud keening noise erupted through the forest. Eragon whirled around and saw the dragon gliding down, circling and eventually landing on her shoulder, nuzzling her cheek. Eragon sighed. _You need to stay here. It’s better for you. Safer for you._

Another whine came from the dragon. Eragon was beginning to regret not telling Uncle Garrow and Roran about the dragon.

She put the dragon back into its hut and try to ensure that the dragon would stay there. _Don’t leave._ Eragon insisted. Another feeling, one of sadness but comprehension went through Eragon and she knew that she could finally leave without the dragon following her.

When she was walking away again, another loud keening noise sounded through the trees but when she checked on the hut again, only the dragon’s head was visible, poking out of the hut, its sapphire blue eyes staring at Eragon intently.

Sadness blossomed through Eragon’s gut and she wasn’t sure if it was her or the dragon.

* * *

 Eragon rushed home, she even started jogging because the sooner she finished her chores, the sooner she could go back. To her dragon.

Uncle Garrow and Roran would not notice the egg’s disappearance, with the knowledge that it could not be sold, it had disappeared from their thoughts. As they broke their fast, Roran mentioned that he had heard noises during the night, which Eragon replied that she had fallen off her bed in her sleep. Again. Uncle Garrow and Roran thought nothing of it.

The day passed quickly after that. Eragon efficiently did her chores as fast as she could and if Uncle Garrow and Roran thought anything of it, they said nothing.

Eragon slid on her jacket, snagged a few pieces of sausage from the kitchen and left. She disappeared from the farm into the forest.

When she approached the hut, she was still out of view from where the dragon should have not been able to see her. But still, it started squeaking loudly when she came close, as if sensing her coming. It flew down, not even drawing its wings but gliding until it landed on Eragon’s face.

“Blaghh.” Eragon swatted at her face, the look of the dragon’s face somehow being smug but happy. It nosed around in her jacket, finding the few sausage links that were for later. “Hey!”

It bothered Eragon that she didn’t even know the dragon’s gender. Was it a he or she? Did dragons have a gender? Genders? There was a possibility that they didn’t. This is why she resolved to see someone that actually knew something about dragons. At least far more than she did. She was going to see Brom.

Of course, she couldn’t actually go to Carvahall without a good reason. That’d just look suspicious. During that time, the dragon’s own growth exploded. In the first week, if the dragon had been the size of a kitten, it was now the size of a rather large house cat. Eragon no longer had to worry about anything eating it, it was now bigger and faster than anything in the forest. After eleven days, it was size of a large dog.

If Eragon couldn’t fit in the hut, the dragon barely fit in it. She moved the dragon to a larger hut, one on the ground, bigger than the last but if the dragon continued to grow, Eragon would have to build a new hut.

Within two weeks, Eragon wasn’t able to supply it with enough food with Uncle Garrow or Roran noticing. She had to start allowing it to have a larger hunting ground, instead of waiting for anything to come near it. Thankfully, the early imprinting of why or how the dragon should not follow Eragon back home stayed. But the hardest part was making sure that the dragon didn’t start hunting other farmers’ livestock. They would sure notice that.

The bond between the two had definitely grown stronger. In three weeks, Eragon had never known anyone who had been able to understand her so easily and quickly. When her bleeding started, she had to go to Gertrude because Uncle Garrow kept on avoiding her when she broached the topic with him until she got the herbs to stop the bleeding.

The distance in which they were able to communicate grew as well. By the end of the third week, they had the distance of three leagues and although their communication wasn’t through words, the dragon had a good sense with images and feelings. She was slowly teaching the dragon how to speak. It could only hum right now and you would think that she would be able discern whether it was a male or female but it seemed as if the dragon was still frozen in pre-growth. Its voice was neither high nor low, there was no distinguishing characteristic about the dragon’s humming at least any that Eragon could tell.

However, Eragon’s biggest problem had to be the marks that the dragon left across the landscape in the forest. Stripped pieces of bark, large piles of defecation littered the area and huge claw marks that were left in the snow, where any half decent tracker or even an untrained villager would discover the existence of the dragon. Therefore, she had planned to tell Roran and Uncle Garrow before they went outside the farm boundaries and into the forest.

But first, she wanted a proper name for her dragon. She couldn’t just keep refer it to as ‘dragon’, and she wanted more knowledge on how to care for it. She didn’t want to stunt its growth by leaving it alone all the time. And for that, she would have to see Brom, the only person in Carvahall that knew, albeit myths and lore, something about dragons. If anything.

Roran needed to go to Horst’s to fix a chisel and Eragon decided she would come with him to see Brom then.

* * *

_Hello_! Eragon projected with her mind. It was strange to think about and describe, but to communicate with the dragon, it seemed that she would have to think loud to herself. The dragon was getting better at picking up Eragon’s everyday thoughts and little musings as she went through her chores though.

Out of the corner of her ear, she heard flapping in the distance. The dragon was circling and Eragon had to shade her eyes to see the dragon; it was a trick she taught the dragon in order to evade any curious eyes but she wasn’t sure what she would need it for. The dragon dove into Eragon, knocking her flat onto the ground.

Eragon scratched the corner of the dragon’s ear and thought once more, _hello._

 _Eragon_. She glanced at the dragon in surprise. This was the first time the dragon had ever said, or thought, a full word, even though it was her name. It was deep and sad.

 _Hello_. She said once more. This was her dragon and she was its rider. She was the dragon’s and the dragon was her’s. She would protect it at all costs.

 _Eragon_.


	5. Chapter 5

Eragon stared silently at Brom’s door, not daring to knock on it and just staring at it. Brom seemed to be a permanent resident of Carvahall and Eragon knew everyone and trusted them too. She and Sloan disliked each other but he wouldn’t really hurt her, at least physically. The last they saw each other was the closest that they had ever come to blows.

But there was something about Brom…He didn’t scare her or anything but he definitely unsettled her. He always seemed to see more than most people.

“Is there something you need?” Brom growled from behind her; he leaned on a twisted staff, his beard was short and speckled with black, grey, and white hairs. With dark brown eyes, Brom seemed to analyze her very being.

“I was wondering if I could ask you a couple questions; it won’t take long,” she promised, eyes eager and hopeful. Brom snorted in amusement. As Brom reached to open his door, Eragon noticed a gold ring inset with a sapphire and strange symbols engraved into it. She’d never notice it before but she never looked too hard at the old storyteller. She wondered where he had the money for that but that was his business and his alone.

“Might as well come in,” he chortled. “Won’t take long.” He said with a laugh. She followed him into the cottage.

Eragon blushed. She did have a reputation for badgering any traders or storytellers for information of anything, really. Curiosity was in her nature. “It might be a while,” she admitted. Brom’s cottage was dark and had a burnt smell to it. He didn’t usually leave the windows open, nor his chimney, but he didn’t have to in this weather.

A candle lit and Eragon could immediately see everything. Eragon finally noticed how crowded the room was. There were stacks of books everywhere and a number of scrolls piled high on the table. Her eyes flickered around, taking in the details.

Brom lit the fire with the candle and sat down in a wooden chair with a groan. He removed his hood, revealing silvery greyish hair. Brom was younger than she thought, looking closer. “So what are your questions?” He relaxed his forearms on his chair.

“I was wondering about the dragon riders? About where they came from?” Eragon chose her wording very carefully. “They seem so extraordinary, I can’t even believe that they existed. Mystical warriors riding on the backs of flying dragons, it seems so farfetched.”

Brom narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Once, Eragon had asked him where he came from and all she got was a chuckle and that “he came from a village, similar to Carvahall but not as interesting.” Eragon thought that the village he came from must have been terribly boring because nothing interesting ever happened in Carvahall. Uncle said Brom suddenly popped out of nowhere and situated himself into Carvahall.

“Riders, or the Shur’turgal, as the elves called them, had a dynasty lasting far beyond what is known as time and they used to have control over twice the amount of land that the Empire even holds now. I will answer what made the Riders so highly regarded and this will involve the dragons.”

“What made up a dragon rider and made them special was not just the rider but it was also the dragon as well. A dragon was not merely a rider’s pet, it was their partner for life. It was no horse or other beast. The origination of dragons is unknown but the story most likely lies with Alagaesia’ creation. When the dragons end, Alagaesia will end as well. But there aren’t many species that originate within Alagaesia. Their world was infinite until the first elves sailed from the sea with their silver ships.”

“Elves?” Eragon interrupted. “They aren’t from Alagaesia? Then where are they from? I’ve heard rumors that they were immortal, is that true?”

Brom stared at her. “If you have that many questions for each one that I answer, we’ll be here all night.”

Eragon flushed and murmured an apology. Brom snorted, “Elves, or Fair Folk, as they’re sometimes called, are from a place named Alalea and they don’t even know where that is and yes, they are immortal. They can only die from blade or poison. Continuing on from my original answer, the first dragon riders rose from a disagreement, or rather, a vicious war between the elves and the dragons. The elves were a very proud and arrogant race back then, and I’m sure if you met someone who knew elves right now, they would say that they still are, and the elves looked at dragons as if they were a sort of mindless creatures. And letting you know, dragons aren’t.” Brom informed Eragon, needlessly. Her dragon had already spoken its first word and Eragon didn’t know any children who could do it when they were only two months old. Eragon had a feeling that her dragon was smart, special.

“The war started when a young elf hunted and killed a dragon, as one would do with a stag; the dragons, angered by his actions, executed that elf and made plans to attack the entre elven nation, thinking that all elves thought this way. Their hatred towards that one elf colored their belief of the other elves. And as powerful as the elves were, they could not defend themselves from the dragons without bloodshed. But, because they had no way of communicating the anger or the misunderstanding, a war commenced. For five years, dragons and elves attacked each other, leaving a very bloody and chaotic Alagaesia. Entire settlements were wiped out, both elf and dragon, and it didn’t seem like the war would, at least, not without the extinction of the other species.

It was a terribly bloody affair because both the elves and the dragons are very well-trained killers. The concept of mercy wasn’t popular as both races were _angry_ over the stereotyping of their breed; Elves did not like to be known as stuffy emotionless know-it-alls nor did dragons enjoy their reputation as blood-thirsty, animalistic monsters. But this had to come to an end and it did,” Brom narrated and Eragon kept rapt attention to the old man. She usually did whenever Brom told his stories but this one was different, she knew it. “But not without difficulty, both sides knew that they did great wrongs but they were both much too prideful to commit to negotiations. Eventually it would end when a young elf named Eragon found a dragon egg.”

Eragon gaped, “I was named after an elf?” She hadn’t heard that before. It was her mother who named her. Uncle didn’t know where her name came from but respected his sister’s wishes.

“Yes, he was out hunting and he found a dragon egg in the midst of ruins,” ignoring Eragon’s affronted _I was named after a man?!_ , Brom continued. “Most of the time when elves discovered dragon eggs, the eggs were typically smashed and destroyed. While it is relatively difficult to destroy dragon eggs, it was a useful tactic especially when waging war. Now, Eragon was alone when he found the egg and there weren’t any dragons around. Why the egg was left there, no one knows, but Eragon chose to raise it. He cared for it secretly and he even became a hermit in order to protect his new friend, who he named Bid’Daum.

“He and Bid’Daum traveled across Alagaesia showing that elves and dragons could live in peace just as they had did before the war. Treaties were hammered out and there was peace once more in Alagaesia. To make sure that relations between the elves and the dragons remained peaceful, the Riders were established; first as messengers between the elves and dragons but the Riders were eventually recognized as powerful beings, much more so than the average elf. They gained more authority and had the island Vroengard as their home, with Doru Areaba as its capital. At the highest power, the Riders had more power than all the kings in Alagaesia combined.” Brom finished talking and took a sip of his tea, raising an eyebrow at the surprised Eragon, whose mouth was still open.

Flabbergasted, Eragon’s mind was racing. This was a lot of information to take in. Eragon could believe that dragons were incredibly dangerous, after all her own had taken down some kind of bird on its first day of life. Eragon didn’t even want to believe what it would be like when it was full-grown. If it ever stopped growing.

“How big did dragons get?” Eragon’s first question revolved around her fear of how long could she hide her dragon. Even after three weeks, Eragon knew that at the rate that the dragon was growing, she would have to move it a different part of the forest, making her life much more difficult.

“Huge,” Brom said simply. “Dragons do not stop growing. The older the dragon was, the bigger. Some of the ancient ones were mistaken for hills.”

“Oh,” Eragon said quietly. That was a problem. “What happened to the dragons?” Eragon asked tentatively. “Are they just gone?”

Brom lit up his pipe and smoked before answering Eragon’s question. “No one quite knows. I doubt even Galbatorix knows; he promised to spare any those that agreed to serve him but only the dragons of the Forsworn would do so at the heed of their riders. Perhaps, they’ve hidden away, realizing that they are better off outside the grip of the Empire.”

“When were human riders introduced?” Eragon asked, “You didn’t mention any humans when you were talking about the creation of the Riders.”

“Humans are not native to Alagaesia. We came three centuries after the introduction of the Riders. Humans were eventually viewed sentient enough to be able to be Riders,” a cloud of dark smoke floated throughout the room. “Only elves and humans were riders; the dwarves had a fierce rivalry with the dragons, stronger than the one between the elves and the dragons; Urgals were never even considered. They followed the elves across the ocean and have been the scourge of Alagaesia ever since.”

Eragon frowned. “But when you told the story the night the traders came about the fall of the Dragon Riders, you made it sound like they lived forever. But humans can’t live forever so what would happen to the dragons when their riders died?”

“Dragons changed their riders.” Brom stated quietly. “I told you a dragon rider who was an elf was much stronger than the average elf, would it not make sense that it would be the same for humans?” He stroked his chair, contemplating. “Human riders had extraordinary long lives, it seemed as if their dragon’s life intertwined with their own so when their rider died who was human, so did the dragon. The same was expected for dragons who died and their riders.” Brom was unnaturally quiet after he said that. To Eragon, it seemed sad and slightly disturbing. Her dragon could make her live unnaturally long. It almost didn’t seem fair how much dragons changed their riders. What made riders so special that they deserved to be essentially immortal? Eragon didn’t think she was anything special. Her finding the egg was a freak accident, let alone hatching it. She was just a farm girl.

“What were dragons’ maturation like?” Eragon inwardly cringed at the suspiciously specific question but any information she had about dragons came from Brom and this was one of the few opportunities she had to pick his brain for details.

If Brom was taken aback by her line of questioning, he certainly didn’t show it. “

“As I’ve told you because dragons never stopped growing, the idea of a maturation was uncommon.” Brom paused, “However, like most animals, they did have periods of mating where the dragons were consumed by a desire to mate with dragons of the opposite sex. The first time would be around two years of age and would occur almost fifteen years afterwards.”

Eragon tilted her head. “So irregular?”

“Dragons lived for a long time, when you live that long, population growth isn’t a concern.” Brom grimaced. “Is that all? I was expecting more.”

“Right,” Eragon froze. Did she dare ask this question? Would it be too obvious? But she doubted even Brom, the storyteller of Carvahall, would guess the secret she was hiding. “When the traders were in town, I heard a name of a famous dragon. I don’t remember the name but I was wondering if you knew any others.”

Brom raised his eyebrows at this and Eragon averted her gaze. She rose as if she were about to leave. “It’s a silly question, I understand, but I was just… curious.”

“No,” Brom shook his head. He began rattling off a series of names; names Eragon had never even heard of but she was apparently named after a male elf so who was she to judge. Brom got quiet, even almost whispering it, “and there was Saphira.”

“I should go,” Eragon said quickly. “Roran’s probably looking for me.” She left Brom in his silence and his dark house.


	6. Chapter 6

Despite the wealth of information Eragon received from Brom, she didn’t feel like she learned much. She did learn a lot, but nothing worthwhile. Nothing that would help. She was going to be immortal. Well, almost immortal. She didn’t feel responsible enough to be almost immortal. Maybe someone like Horst was responsible enough to be immortal, but Eragon? She still played pranks on Roran for goodness’ sake. Roran hadn’t enjoyed the snow down his shirt and she was still waiting for his response.

Her dragon was never going to stop growing. Eragon knew that she had to tell Roran and Uncle sooner or later about her dragon but this cemented it. Eventually, they would go in the forest and they would find her dragon. What would Eragon do then? Depending on how old the dragon was, it could defend itself, Roran and her uncle were no great warriors after all but she didn’t want to rip her family apart.

The Empire would find out about her and her family. What would he do to them? Galbatorix had massacred the Riders of Old, what would he do to an untrained girl with an untrained dragon?

She was named after a male elf. This was the least of her concerns but it was just another piece of information that she didn’t know about her mother. How would her mother know about the legend of Eragon and what significance did it have to her? Why would she name her daughter after a male elf? What did it mean? Another mystery.

She also had to name her dragon. She didn’t like calling it her dragon all the time. It would also help if she knew if the dragon was a male or a female. She didn’t want to call the dragon an “it” her entire life. From what Brom declared, dragons were noble creatures and if her dragon realized that Eragon had been calling it an object this entire time…. Eragon didn’t want to think about what would happen.

Roran met her at the road that led them out of Carvahall. Eragon, still ruminating over her thoughts, murmured a soft greeting to Roran, who echoed one back but remained silent as well.  It wasn’t until they were half-way home when Eragon realized neither of them had said a word to each other.

“Did you get the tools fixed?” Eragon asked, glancing her eyes at her older cousin. “Horst wasn’t too busy for you?” As the only blacksmith in town, who was trained in metal work, Horst and his family were busy year-round. This was the reason that Albriech and Baldor needed to learn the family trade in order to keep up with Carvahall’s demand.

“Yes, there was a man from Therinsford was there as well,” Roran answered, quietly. “A man who worked in the mills.” Therinsford was a much larger town that was also hidden by the mountains. While still a small village, Therinsford was more widely known. “His name was Dempton and he needed some sockets made.”

Eragon frowned. “Doesn’t Therinsford have its own blacksmith?” Horst may have trained up and down the coast of Alagaesia before settling in Carvahall but Therinsford had a population to justify more than one blacksmith.

Roran shrugged. “Apparently, one of them was conscripted into the Empire’s service and the other isn’t skilled enough,” he stayed silent for a moment. “He offered me a job in his mills. I’m going to take it.”

Eragon stared at her cousin in shock. “Why?” she asked, “You know how dangerous mill work is, Roran. You could lose a finger or worse. It’s year round and we need you on the farm, Roran, you know we do. We barely made this year’s harvest and with you gone, there’s no way we’ll make the next one. Besides, I’m supposed to be helping Elaine and her family next winter, you’ll leave Uncle on the farm by himself?”

Roran set a stubborn line with his jaw, “I need to.”

“Need to?” Eragon lectured, “What about the family? What about Uncle? We don’t need the money to survive, Roran; we need you.”

Roran shook his head, “You don’t understand, Eragon.”

“Don’t I?” Eragon’s voice rose. “Is this about Katrina?” She asked sharply. “Are you proposing?”

“Eragon…”

“Katrina would say yes even if we lived in a shack, Roran,” Eragon argued. “We don’t need the money to survive.”

“This isn’t about Katrina,” Roran countered. “This is about myself and proving that I can do it. That I can provide for her,” he smiled wistfully. “If things go well, by the next spring, I’ll be back on the farm with a wife.

Eragon sighed, letting the tension from her body release. “Uncle’s not going to say no,” she pointed out. Uncle may have been attached to Roran and Eragon and he didn’t know about Roran’s relationship with Katrina but Eragon had a feeling that he wouldn’t say no. “With you gone, there’ll be one less mouth to feed. Or mouths, I suppose,” she smirked. “Maybe we’ll survive the winter better with you gone.”

Roran pushed her lightly and she stumbled in the snow, laughing.

* * *

 

Eragon waited until the next day to meet her dragon as she always did. Rushing back and forth from the forest without a moment’s rest would have attracted the attention of her family. She communicated with the dragon through thoughts to make sure that it was okay and hadn’t done anything it wasn’t supposed to do.

All Eragon was feeling was restlessness and hunger but that may have been just on her side.

She had made a list of names that she liked from Brom, adding in a few of her own names from legends that coincidentally, Brom had taught her. She wasn’t quite sure as to what to name her dragon. Dragons were noble creatures and so was hers even if Eragon had never really heard her dragon talk before.

“I don’t like it.” Eragon said childishly. Her dragon snorted and Eragon whirled on it. “I’m allowed to not like it,” she pointed out rather ungracefully, not noticing she was arguing with a dragon who could barely talk, let alone form sentences. “I don’t understand why he feels like he needs to leave. Money alone isn’t going to make Sloane accept him. Sloane’s going to kill him money or not.”

A ripple echoed throughout the dragon’s body, which made it looked like it was shrugging but Eragon ignored it. The dragon curled up into a spiral, flattening its ears against its head.

Eragon sat down as well and fingered one of the dragon’s spines. “I do suppose I need to name you. I can’t just keep calling you dragon. That’s not proper.” She racked her head for names. “What about Alfred? Or Ingolfr? They were majestic kings of Alagaesia.”

Her dragon chuffed, as if it were laughing. Eragon frowned. “What? I thought they were quite nice, especially for dragon names. How about Sigmundr? That’s a name of a dragon if you don’t want human names.”

The dragon leveled its eyes at Eragon, at which Eragon felt she was being stared.

“Well, how about….” Eragon rattled off a series of names, which she was hoping the dragon would take a liking to at least one of them.

 _Eragon._ The dragon’s voice echoed through her head.

“You can’t have my name,” Eragon pointed out. “We can’t go about, oh there’s the rider Eragon and its dragon Eragon. That’d be ridiculous.”

E _ragon_. The dragon’s lip curled and Eragon had the faintest feeling that it was smirking at her.

“Why would you want the name Eragon, anyways? I’m named after a male elf my entire life and I only just found out yesterday and I am also clearly female. Do you want to be named after the opposite sex also? Everyone can get a laugh out of it too. There goes Eragon, who’s a female rider, and there goes her dragon, who’s named a female dragon.” She froze, “Wait.”

 _Eragon._ This time Eragon definitely saw an eyebrow being raised.

“You’re female too?!?” Eragon shrieked loudly.

  _Y_ _es._

 “I knew you could saw more words,” Eragon pounded a fist against her flat hand. “Nevermind that, that’s why you were saying my name. You were trying to tell me that I was trying to name you after a male when you’re a female, just like what happened to me!”

_Sure._

Eragon frowned. “Shut up, you could have told me. Now, I won’t do what my mother did to me, which I may not know my mother but who knows what she was thinking, naming me after a male elf? Ha!” She tilted her head. “There aren’t as many female dragon names that Brom gave me and there aren’t that many in human mythology, which is a shame. Perhaps we can add our names to those in the future. What about Astrid? She was name of a legendary warrior who beheaded 13 Urgals in one battle. Or Frigga, queen of the gods.”

_No._

“Well that’s hardly useful, is there any reason why?”

_No._

“Thanks for that.” Eragon nibbled on her lip, mulling over her thoughts. She turned her ideas towards actual female dragons of lore that Brom told her about. She wasn’t fond of those names as she had been of the male dragon names, probably because there were more of them.

“I-what about Saphira?” Brom had said that one in almost whisper as if he hadn’t meant it to leave his lips. He said in a sort of soft manner that made it seem rather personal to Eragon. But her dragon had rejected all sorts of names and Eragon was becoming desperate. She was about to name her dragon something common and that wouldn’t do for her dragon.

 _Yes._ Saphira hummed and Eragon felt a glow within her. _Saphira is my name._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eragon's a bit of brat, isn't she? She's quite comfortable where she is at in life and doesn't want it to change. Little does she know, Roran leaving is the least of her worries, at least it will be. The normal bit about naming Saphira something common was inspired by when people name their "OCs" or "self-inserts" and they're something fantastic like Ebony Dark'ness Dementia Raven Way. While Eragon may have grown up slightly poor, which I headcanon seeing as how they can't afford their own meat even the dead of winter and they live out in the rural farmland, which may have been Garrow's choice. Still, there's a hint of class difference that separates Roran and Katrina, which I don't think Paolini ever really addresses. Plus, she's fifteen, even if she were male, I think there's still a hint of arrogance to Eragon, which is downplayed as normal when it comes to his character

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really need to say much but this is based off Christopher Paolini's first book in his Inheritance Cycle, Eragon.


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